


Impulse

by MilkTeaMiku



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Love, Fluff, Hair Brushing, M/M, Protective Dean, Protective Dean Winchester, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 17:50:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7448443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilkTeaMiku/pseuds/MilkTeaMiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were tangles in Sam’s hair when he first pulled the brush through it. He worked his way up from the bottom, carefully pulling apart knots as he went, until each section of hair he picked up was smooth and tangle-free. He had to turn Sam’s chin again, and this time Sam stirred, curling himself around where he came into sudden contact with Dean. It was a cute move for sure, one Sam would never live down if he were lucid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impulse

Sam’s always had long hair.

Longer than Dean’s, naturally – he was allowed to keep it longer, and after Stanford, it was his choice to. Dean had always been made to keep his short, keep it out of the way, to make it manageable and low maintenance. A wash every week, every two if he forgot; it didn’t matter. He’d run a brush through it, or his fingers, and that would be that.

It was different with Sam. John hadn’t been as harsh with him, and hadn’t expected him to follow so closely in his footsteps. Dean had to cut his hair. Sammy didn’t. Even though John told him he had to when it got long enough to be a distraction, he hadn’t. He was good at ignoring orders from John in a way that Dean didn’t think he could ever be.

If Dean were being honest, he kind of liked Sam’s long hair. It was different from his own; not only darker and thicker, but it felt different, too. It was softer and, dare he say it, _silkier._ He knew Sam’s beauty routine was different from his own – meaning he had a beauty routine that was more than just running his fingers through his hair – and it had had some obvious effects.

When Sam was little, he wasn’t as good at taking care of himself as he was now. Mostly because Dean did everything for him. He would venture down to the hotel laundries to wash their clothes and break into vending machines to steal them food when they ran out of change and the closest gas station wasn’t for a couple miles. When Sam was a baby – a toddler still, capable of walking and chatting and sleeping but not much else – Dean would even bathe him. John was on hunts all the time, and it was thus Dean’s job to look after Sam in every way.

That had included brushing his hair, when he was a kid. Even if Dean was greasy and dirty and God knows what else, Sam didn’t have to be. Not while Dean was looking after him.

He kind of misses it, when he thinks about it. He always felt close to Sam when he was taking care of him, watching out for him. Sam didn’t like him doing it anymore, and he didn’t need it as much as he used to. Dean wanted to, though. He’d long since been hardwired to look after to Sam, to protect his Sammy and make sure he was alright.

Sure, he didn’t show it much now, but that didn’t mean his instincts weren’t telling him to look after his little brother in every way possible.

Lately, Dean’s instincts had been pointing him to Sam’s hair. With all the running around he did hunting demons it got tangled and knotty and sweaty. He was always brushing his hands through it, and although it certainly did give him the dishevelled look, it definitely wasn’t making it any neater.

He didn’t think Sam would let him brush his hair anymore. He’d probably get hit right in the nose if he tried, actually. Didn’t stop him thinking about it, of course, but he never did it.

When the opportunity arose _naturally,_ however, he was inclined to carry out his whims. He was never good at holding back, after all. It was in his nature to indulge.

Said opportunity occurred after a particularly straining hunt. He and Sam had cleared out a nasty nest of vamps down south. Not only had the vamps had a taste for human blood, but they were rather partial to pulling off limbs like they were Lego pieces, too. Dean was rather fond of where his limbs were, thank you very much.

It was safe to say that Sam was exhausted after it. Dean was too, but it was nothing a beer and a bacon burger couldn’t fix. Sam’s recipe for recuperating was very different to his, and it involved a hot shower and twelve solid hours of sleep – only he hadn’t made it further than the desk in their small hotel room before conking out.

He was slumped over his arms, hair strewn out wildly, and Dean was all but bulldozed with the need to brush those locks. The image of Sam lying there, hunched over his arms fully asleep reminded him so much of when Sam was a kid; when he’d fall asleep in front of the crappy hotel room TV like it had told him a bedtime story. 

He’d wrestled Sam to bed before and this night was no different. Sam weighed a fuckton when he was awake – damn sasquatch – but it was worse when all his weight was dead. Dean only swore at him twice as he heaved him to the bed closest to the door; his own bed, because if anyone broke in they’d get to him first and not Sam, but for one night he guessed it was alright.

Sam groaned once and turned his head. The long, tanned stretch of his neck stood out starkly in the dark as skin often did, and Dean couldn’t help but give it a considerate look. It would be so much prettier with a few of his bite marks trodden into the skin, but tonight wasn’t a night for that. No, Sam was sleeping, and his hair was _free game._

He’d gotten the brush from Sam’s bag before he really realised it. It was an impulse he didn’t want to ignore anymore. Sam was pliant when Dean turned his chin to the side, and only murmured to himself quietly as he buried his nose in Dean’s pillows. It was Dean’s lucky night; Sam usually didn’t sleep so relaxed.

There were tangles in Sam’s hair when he first pulled the brush through it. He worked his way up from the bottom, carefully pulling apart knots as he went, until each section of hair he picked up was smooth and tangle-free. He had to turn Sam’s chin again, and this time Sam stirred, curling himself around where he came into sudden contact with Dean. It was a cute move for sure, one Sam would never live down if he were lucid.

But he wasn’t lucid, so Dean wouldn’t bring it up again, not unless he was in a particularly teasing mood and he knew Sam could handle it. There were a lot of cute things Sam did in his sleep that Dean had never told him about.

When he’d finished, he set the brush down on the bedside table in favour of running his fingers through Sam’s hair. It really needed a wash but it was still as silky as he remembered. It made him smile.

“Dean…?” A sleepy whine comes from Sam as he stubbornly blinked his eyes open. “Why’d you stop?”

“You’re sleeping,” Dean reminded him, “go back to sleep again.”

“I want you to continue,” Sam insisted, sleepily adamant, as he rested one of those large paws of his on Dean’s knee. “Feels good.”

Dean is quiet for a moment. “Didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, reaching for the brush again. “Just couldn’t help myself.”

Sam set his head down on the pillow again, absently nosing at Dean’s knee. “’M mostly asleep, anyway,” he mumbled, eyes closed. He let out a ridiculously pleased groan as Dean took the brush to his hair again. “Feels good, De…”

Dean hummed. “If you weren’t so tired you’d probably kick my ass right about now.”

“Probably,” Sam agreed around a yawn. He didn’t take his hand off of Dean’s knee as he drifted deeper into sleep. Dean took it as a win. He knew Sammy loved him – they were brothers, after all, and there was no Sam without Dean and vice versa – and it was still nice to have quiet moments like these. They never caught a break with their line of work and tender moments were far and few between.

It really made him appreciate them.


End file.
